Winter Song
by SydneyAlice
Summary: December is always hard because everything reminds me of you – the frozen pond, the hot chocolate, the glittering lights... I see you everywhere. It's the sweetest torture. Written for PixieJenna for FGB.


**AN: This story is for PixieJenna who won my Fandom Gives Back auction. I was humbled and honored to be part of such an amazing event. This story is all hers, but she told me that I could share it with everyone. :)**

**My inspiration for this includes "Winter Song" by Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson, "Wintersong" by Sarah McLachlan, and "River" by Joni Mitchell. **

**Thank you to Heather for the beautiful banner which can be seen on my blog, and thanks to Katmom for pre-reading.**

**Happy holidays. :)**

* * *

><p><strong>Winter Song<strong>

* * *

><p>Snow blankets the earth in a cascade of white that shimmers in the sunlight. I gaze out the frosty window, watching in fascination as my breath creates a pale fog along the glass.<p>

You love the snow.

You love the holidays.

You especially love Christmas morning.

I think about you all the time, but never so much as I have the past few days. December is always so hard because everything reminds me of you – the frozen river where we like to skate, the hot chocolate we love the drink, the glittering lights of the tree that you can't wait to decorate…

I see you everywhere.

It's the sweetest torture.

They say the holidays are the hardest for military families, and maybe that's true. I certainly see it on your dad's face. I've tried my best to decorate the house the way you like it decorated, but I'm not you, and it's obvious in the way the tree leans to the left and the tinsel doesn't drape as it should.

I tried.

It was futile, really. You have this miraculous way of turning everything you touch into something beautiful and perfect.

That power is not within me, no matter how hard I try.

Abigail sits under the tree, carefully trailing her fingers along the wrapped packages. She's you, Bella – with those bottomless brown eyes that break my heart every time I look into them because they remind me that you're gone. I've tried to be excited about Christmas because Abby loves it so much. We've even made a few snowmen, with big top-hats and everything. But she's smart, and she knows when Daddy's unhappy. I try to fake it, but she's too much like her mother. She knows when I'm forcing it, and that's when our five year old climbs into my lap, wraps her arms around my neck, and tells me that Mommy loves us even though she's so far away.

It's the same thing I say to her, on the days when I'm a little less emo and trying to be strong for her.

Charlie has been a little distant the past few weeks. It's not surprising – he misses you almost as much as I do – but he's been particularly absent lately. When he is here, he's constantly whispering into the phone.

It's annoying, but I don't ask.

"Daddy?"

Abby's voice washes over me, bringing me back to reality.

"Tell me about skating with Mommy."

I smile wistfully as I continue to gaze out the frozen window.

"You know the story, Abby."

"Tell it anyway."

I chuckle.

"Okay, I'll tell it anyway."

The pretty packages forgotten, she walks over to the bay window and climbs into my lap. We Eskimo kiss, and she giggles your giggle and I want to drown in it.

"It was your first date," Abby offers helpfully.

"Yes, our very first. We were both sixteen."

"And she was wearing a white sweater."

It was white and clung to you in the very best of ways. I leave that particular detail out of the story, though.

"And she was the prettiest girl you'd ever seen."

Emotion bubbles in my chest, but I swallow it down and tell her about the lake and how you were never less coordinated than when you were wearing ice skates. She laughs when I tell her how you kept falling, landing on your bottom and swearing you'd never skate again.

"But you'd always go back," Abby grins.

"Every year," I smile softly.

It was one of the reasons we bought this house, because there was a pond just over the hill that always freezes during the winter months. It's the perfect place for ice skating.

Abby yawns, and I carry her up the stairs. She says her prayers, thanking God for our blessings and asking for a safe return home for all the troops, and especially for Mommy. She asks God to remind Santa to not forget the soldiers because they need gifts, too, and I blink back tears as I kiss her forehead and tuck her into bed. I close the door behind me and sigh heavily before making my way down the hallway.

I hate bedtime.

Our bedroom is the coldest room in the house, but it's not because of the lack of heat. It's a deep, aching, punishing absence of warmth that will only be replaced once you're lying under the blanket with me. There are nights the loneliness is suffocating, threatening to swallow me whole. The silence is always deafening, and the night is always too long.

I'm proud of you. Insanely proud. I was fine with sharing you. We could handle anything for a year, right?

Twelve months passed, and the deployment was extended.

And extended again.

I wasn't prepared for three years of this.

I'm a selfish bastard. I accepted this long ago.

Our daughter misses her mother.

Your father misses his daughter.

And there is a gaping hole in my chest where my heart used to be.

I bury my face in my pillow.

Tomorrow is Christmas morning, and I've got to get it together.

Abby will be up before dawn, and I'll need to have hot chocolate steaming on the stove when she tip-toes her way down the stairs. With Charlie, we'll open presents and she'll play with the little nail polish and ignore the expensive dollhouse because that's what kids do.

They love the big presents; they just love them _later._

My eyes never close, but morning arrives anyway. A quick glance out the window assures me that the meteorologist got it right for a change as six inches of new snow has fallen overnight. I hear muffled noise downstairs, and I know it's Charlie making last minute additions to the gifts under the tree.

He spoils her rotten.

I don't mind at all.

"Good morning, son!"

Charlie's voice is unusually chipper as I make my way down the stairs. Ready to play my role, I force a smile.

"Merry Christmas, Charlie."

I head to the kitchen, ready to prepare Abby's hot chocolate. I stir patiently, and my eyes burn with exhaustion as I concentrate on not scorching the milk.

"I need a favor," Charlie says as he walks into the kitchen. I watch in confusion as he turns off the stove. "It's early. Abby won't be up for a while."

Bewildered, I check my watch.

He's right. It's not even six.

"What do you need?"

"I think we need another tree," Charlie says.

I narrow my eyes in confusion.

"Charlie, we have a tree."

"We need one more," he replies. "I saw it yesterday down by the pond. It would be perfect for Abby's room. You know Bella always had a tree in her room as a child –"

"I know she did…"

"And when I told Abby, she said that she'd like a tree for her room, as well."

Funny, Abby never mentioned a tree to me.

"Charlie, it's Christmas morning."

"Your daughter wants a tree," he replies simply, as if the mere fact that Abby wants anything is enough incentive to brave the single digit temperatures on Christmas day.

Which, of course, it is.

"Fine," I sighed heavily. "You'd better hope she doesn't wake up before I get back. Where's this tree?"

Charlie is already dumping my boots and jacket in a pool at my feet. "It's a small spruce next to the dock. You can't miss it."

* * *

><p>The wind whistles in my ear as I trudge along the trail leading to the water. The trees glisten with snow and ice, and it's truly one of the most beautiful mornings I've ever seen.<p>

I wish you could see it, baby.

Maybe I'll come back later with the camera.

It's a short walk to the pond, and I stop abruptly at the dock and take a look around.

"I don't see any spruce," I grumble.

The sun is just rising, and its morning rays reflecting against the fresh snow threaten to blind me. I shield my eyes and look across the ice-covered pond, and what I see rocks me to my very core.

You're there, with skates strapped to your feet, gliding across the frozen water.

"Bella."

It isn't the first time I've imagined you. It happens quite a bit, actually, so I'm not truly shaken by the image before me. It's when you come to an abrupt halt on the ice and actually say my name that my heart stops beating.

I hear your voice, clear as crystal.

"Edward."

This is new. My hallucinations rarely speak, and never with such clarity.

Your mirage begins to skate toward me, stopping just short of the dock. Your hands wrap around the wooden beams, and I see your wedding ring glittering on your left hand.

"Merry Christmas, baby," the image whispers, all breathy and soft, and I swallow convulsively.

After three years, it's finally happened.

I have officially lost my mind.

I know I'm insane because you suddenly smile, and I feel compelled to smile in return.

"You're beautiful," I murmur.

You smile again, and this time, your beautiful eyes twinkle in the sunlight.

"I must look terrible," you mumble, suddenly shy. "The plane was delayed for a hundred years in Detroit. Once we arrived at the base, I didn't take time to shower or change or even brush my hair. I just…"

You're babbling adorably, and I can't help but be impressed. Never have my illusions been so precise.

Suddenly, your wide brown eyes find mine, and a shudder wracks my body.

"Edward?"

"Why are you doing this to me?" I whisper weakly. "You know how hard this day is for me. How hard _every damn day_ is for me, and yet you give me _this_ today?"

Your eyes look startled and shaken, and it's so close to your real expression that I have to look away.

"I miss you so much, Bella. I miss you every single day, and Abby misses you, and we're trying so hard to just get through every single day…"

"Edward – "

"But today is Christmas, and I'm trying so hard to hold it together before I completely lose my mind, and yet here you are, perfect and beautiful and a complete figment of my imagination on the one day out of the entire year that I absolutely have to hold it together for our daughter. I can be institutionalized tomorrow. But today –"

"Edward, I'm not a figment of your imagination."

"You are," I whimper, my voice gravelly and tired.

"I'm real," you say sweetly, and I swear you sound like an angel. "I'm here."

You reach for me, and I close my eyes, preparing my body for the quake of disappoint that will erupt when I don't feel your touch.

And then I do.

It's a gentle touch – soft and sweet and tender.

I choke back a sob, and I hear you do the same.

"Open your eyes, baby."

I refuse, because I know if I open them – and you're gone – I will surely take that last step into complete insanity.

"I wish I had a river I could skate away on," you sing softly.

My eyes flash open.

And you're still there.

The air leaves my body as you point to a pair of ice skates. They are black and lying on a section of the bench that is somehow devoid of snow. I sit down to unlace my boots – strapping the ice skates onto my feet. It's been years – three to be exact – since I've skated, but what better way to finalize my descent into madness than to skate with the love of my life on a frozen pond on Christmas morning.

I skate to your side, and you offer me your hand.

I take a deep breath, and then I slip my gloved hand along yours.

The burn is immediate, and I quickly pull my hand away.

"It's okay," you say gently. Your voice is soft and coaxing as you take my hand again. I feel it again – the tingle that always accompanies your touch – and it's like a soothing balm.

Our eyes never leave each other's faces as we begin to glide on the ice.

"Look at us," you say with a smile. "Just like riding a bike."

I'm unable to form words, because I'm beginning to believe that this just might be real.

Your hair is glorious – whipping wild in the air as we skate along the pond. Our speed increases, and your cheeks turn the most delicious shade of pink.

And then you laugh, and it's as if the world stops spinning. Besides the warmth of your body and the gentleness of your touch, it's probably the one thing I've missed the most.

I abruptly bring us to a stop, pulling you close to my chest. Your eyes go wide, but you're not afraid.

You're excited.

You're happy.

"You're here," I whisper.

The eyes I love so much fill with tears.

"I'm here."

I don't care that it's eight degrees. I don't care that we're standing on an icy pond. I don't even care that I was obviously set up because there's no spruce tree next to the dock.

None of it matters.

Nothing matters but that you're here.

"For how long?"

It's selfish to ask and ruin this perfect moment, but I have to prepare myself.

"For always," you say as you trail your fingertips along my scratchy beard. "It's over."

"Over," I murmur into the frosty air.

It's truly the sweetest word ever, and I excitedly lift her into the air.

We take our time walking back to the house. Abby is surely awake by now, and I'm certain that she's impatient. By now, I'm guessing her grandfather has told her that the very best Christmas present is on its way.

We don't kiss. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I know that once we start, we'll never want to stop. And we have our family waiting for us.

So we don't kiss.

We hold hands, though.

All the way back to the house your hand remains in mine as you talk excitedly. Just as I expected, Charlie knew all about this little homecoming, putting to rest any suspicions I had about all those hushed phone calls over the past few weeks.

Arrangements were being made; a surprise was being planned.

I couldn't be mad.

How can I possibly be upset when you're here?

"What if she doesn't recognize me?"

You're nervously biting your lip, and I can't help but smile.

"She looks at your picture every day," I remind you.

I don't know what I expect as we approach the house, but I don't anticipate our daughter throwing open the door – wearing her reindeer pajamas and giant snow boots – and rushing through the snow toward your outstretched arms. You lift her into the air as she buries her face against your neck.

"Mommy, mommy, mommy," Abby chants sweetly and repeatedly, and I see Charlie wipe his eyes from the front porch. You fall to your knees in the snow as our daughter clutches your neck urgently and desperately, and all I hear in the quiet air of Christmas morning is a chorus of _I missed you_ and _I love you_ between my girls, and it makes my heart soar.

* * *

><p>As predicted, the glittery pink nail polish is more of a hit than the dollhouse, but that could be because mommy and baby girl are sitting next to the fireplace and painting each other's nails. Your giggles are infectious, and I catch Charlie's eye for just a moment before we focus our attention back on our girls.<p>

Your reunion with your dad was bittersweet. The two of you have never been particularly affectionate, but when your only daughter has been in Afghanistan for the past three years, the emotion tends to take priority over any vulnerability you might feel. You shared a quiet embrace and a few whispered words. It was hard to do much more than that considering Abby was still clinging to your neck as if she was afraid you were going to disappear.

You look my way throughout the day, and we share a smile before you turn your attention back to our daughter.

I know what you're thinking, and you know what I'm thinking.

_We have all night._

That's what we're thinking.

It's not as if we've gone three years without seeing each other, but it's been a year.

A very long year.

As you play with our daughter, I let my eyes become reacquainted with your body. Your hair is still long, and I'm forever grateful that you weren't forced to cut it. It was braided into a bun, however, so it flows down your shoulders in wild curls now that it's been set free.

My fingers itch to touch it.

_We have all night._

It's hard to tell because you're wearing your USMC hoodie, but I know your body is fit and toned. For one thing, the Marines require it. For another, you always ate healthy foods, and I know that won't change.

You will be so disappointed when you see the crap I have stored in the pantry.

You'll forgive me.

Charlie offers to make lunch and asks Abby to help him in the kitchen. She looks conflicted, as if she's afraid to walk out of the room. You promise you'll be right here when she gets back, and with a quiet nod, she takes her grandfather's hand.

I hear you sigh as you rise to your feet and turn to face the tree. You tiptoe to reach one of the homemade ornaments on the top branch, and I bite back a groan when I see the sliver of skin along the small of your back.

_We have all night._

Unable to stay away a moment longer, I slowly walk toward the tree. You smile and snake your arms around my waist as I press a kiss to your hair.

"It's a beautiful tree, Edward."

I kiss your hair again, just because I can.

"The entire house is beautiful," you continue softly. "The lights and the smells…everything is perfect."

"It wasn't perfect until now."

You tilt your face toward mine, and I see the golden flecks in your beautiful brown eyes. They dart to my mouth, and my breath hitches when you moisten your bottom lip.

"Kiss me," you plead, and it pierces my soul.

"Not yet."

"Why?"

"Because we have all night."

You smile knowingly. You're still such a flirt.

"Just a little one?"

I sigh loudly and shake my head.

"Just a little one won't be enough, and you know it."

You giggle. "We do get a little carried away."

Charlie and Abby reappear with soup and sandwiches, and the four of us eat lunch around the fire. We spend the afternoon as a family, watching Christmas movies and finally playing with the dollhouse. It was the one present she really wanted, and I know it's still not her favorite gift she's received today.

That would be you.

The afternoon fades into night, and after helping with the dinner dishes, Charlie announces that he's headed home.

"Abby, what do you say to spending the night with your ol' grandpa?"

He glances at the two of us, and I see you try to hide your grin.

"I'm not leaving Mommy," our daughter says defiantly, and while I appreciate his offer, I can't say that I'm surprised. She's been attached to your hip since you walked through the door, and I don't expect it to change anytime soon. There's no further discussion, and your dad offers us a sympathetic smile before saying goodnight.

I'm never far away, but I keep my distance as I let you and Abby have your moments of bedtime bonding. You bathe her and read to her, and when our daughter says her prayers, she thanks God for bringing her Mommy home for Christmas, because 'that's what I really, really wanted.'

You tuck her in, kiss her goodnight, and it's only when you find me in the hallway do you finally dissolve into tears.

"I know, baby," I say softly as I wrap my arms around you.

You look up at me, and I smile down at you, gently wiping your wet cheeks with the pads of my thumbs. Without a whisper of a word between us, I take your hand and slowly lead you down the hallway.

"Everything's the same." Your voice is soft as your eyes ghost over our room.

It is, because I couldn't bear to change a thing.

"I need to shower…badly," you say with a shy grin.

"Okay."

You stand and wait, wondering if I'm missing the invitation behind your words. I'm missing nothing. I just refuse to make love to you against the tiled wall of the shower.

Not for our first time, anyway.

Maybe the second.

Or the third.

Or…

"Go shower," I say, and I can hear the desperation in my voice.

You smile, and it assures me that you know I'm not rejecting you. I'm simply being patient.

Desperately patient – if there's even such a thing.

While you shower, I try to ignore the fact that you're naked behind the door. I try to forget that the soap is sliding down your body and that your hair is dripping with water.

I try.

I fail.

Hard.

And suddenly, I'm sixteen years old again.

I hear the hair dryer, and I know I have to get my hormones in check or this will be the quickest reunion sex in the history of mankind.

I think about fishing. I think about football. I think about baseball. I think about…

You walk back into the bedroom, and all of that thinking is replaced with one single thought.

You are standing naked in our bedroom.

I try not to stare, but it's pointless and impossible. You're too beautiful, and I haven't set eyes on you in far too long.

Suddenly, I'm nervous.

You sense my anxiety, because you walk over to me and begin to tug at my flannel shirt. You push it so that it falls down my shoulders and onto the floor. The t-shirt goes over my head, and I shudder when your fingers dance along my chest.

You step closer as your hand slides along my stomach, until it finally reaches the button of my jeans. Those, along with my underwear, quickly pool at my feet.

I take a deep breath. There is something very important that I must say.

The most important thing ever.

"I love you," I whisper.

Your smile takes my breath away.

"I love you, too."

I take your hand and lead you to our bed. You lie back against the stark white pillows and watch with hungry eyes as I climb over you. I lay at your side, and my own ravenous eyes devour you as my finger blazes a trail from your eyebrow to your chin. You sigh softly as my hand rediscovers every curve, and it's at the point that my need finally consumes me. Your eyes flutter closed as my face drifts closer, and we sigh into each other's mouths as our lips finally touch.

You are the only girl I've ever kissed, but I can't imagine that it gets any better than this.

Our mouths move – slow and gentle and first, until finally, it's not enough. You whimper and I groan as our lips part, and when your tongue finds mine, our bodies shudder in unison.

"Please," you whisper urgently against my lips, and I swallow your pleas with another burning kiss as I cover your body with mine.

"This is going to be embarrassingly quick," I caution you.

"We have all night," you remind me.

Chest to chest, we cling to each other, whispering how much we've missed this, how much we love each other, and how we'll never be separated again.

* * *

><p>Your fingers drift into my hair, and I hum in contentment as I rest my cheek against your chest. My hand settles over your wildly-beating heart, and I listen, counting the beats as it begins to calm. We lay there for what seems like an eternity, until your hands begin to roam.<p>

We have all night, after all.

And I intend to take advantage of every single second.

* * *

><p>The morning is cold and crisp, but the bed is toasty warm with my girls nestled in my arms.<p>

Abby knocked on our door around four this morning, and we weren't at all disappointed when she asked if she could sleep with us.

She needed to be close to you.

I understood completely.

We rise just after eight, and after breakfast, we zip our jackets and grab our skates.

There is no question what we'll be doing today.

You made me vow not to teach her until you came home to stay, and I've kept that promise. With our daughter gripping each of our hands, we glide slowly across the pond. She only falls once, and when I announce that she's already a better skater than her mother, I'm punched on the arm.

And then I'm kissed.

By both my girls.

The sun peeks out from behind the clouds. It's not enough to heat the frigid December, but warmth flows through me as we skate along the ice.

Our pond.

Our daughter.

And you.

This is my winter song.


End file.
